Butler. Feintuch. Stemple. Morressy. Lem. What a month this has been. I'm so tired of writing obituaries. It just makes me sad. How about nobody else dies for a while, huh? How would that be?

On the bright side, I just got my review copy of Caitlin R. Kiernan's Alabaster -- all the Dancy Flammarion stories, including a new novella -- so suddenly the thought of sitting by the rainy windows all evening doesn't sound so bad at all. (And click on the cover if you visit that link, so you can get the pop-up with the wraparound cover art. Holy crap, that's gorgeous. I'm unspeakably envious.) I started reading (well, re-reading, because it's one I know and love) the first story on my lunch break, and it's so great. Makes me want to write short stories myself, too, which is a nice thing. I want to write something about striving against the darkness, not to save yourself -- the darkness will eat you anyway -- but because striving is all you can do, and to do anything less is to be complicit with that darkness.